


press

by hqten



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: 1236 words of miya osamu being a homosexual, Flirting, M/M, OsaMei, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-22
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-12 10:41:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29633412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hqten/pseuds/hqten
Summary: Press. Wrap. Don’t think about Meian, who’s stood over the counter in such a way that his slightly sweat-stained shirt hangs forward, revealing defined pectoral muscles that would probably feel nice underneath Osamu’s fingertips. Yeah. Don’t think about that.
Relationships: Meian Shuugo & Miya Osamu, Meian Shuugo/Miya Osamu
Comments: 10
Kudos: 55





	press

**Author's Note:**

> don't mind me just uhhhhhh osamei i guess BUT IT'S SFW
> 
> yes this isn't proofread yes i have no intention of proofreading it ever

It’s not unusual for the Black Jackals to celebrate in Onigiri Miya after a game. It’s not unusual for them to congregate in the back corner, and it’s not unusual for Atsumu to yell an order across the restaurant.

It _is_ unusual for their captain to approach the counter after lightly reprimanding Atsumu, nod at Osamu, and begin a conversation.

Osamu wishes it was unusual for his pulse to quicken when he sees Meian Shugo, but it’s not. He’s had feelings for his brother’s captain for the best part of a year and has tried to get over his small crush, but that has proved impossible.

“Hey,” Meian says, the faintest raising of an eyebrow visible on his face. His voice is gruff yet soft in all the right places. Osamu wonders what his morning voice would sound like.

“Heya,” he replies. It’s not the first time he’s spoken to Meian, but he thinks that this is the closest they’ve been, separated only by a metal counter.

“How are you?”

“Good,” is the longest word that Osamu can stammer out. No, he’s not good. He is very far from good. He’s in love with his brother’s teammate, and the man himself is mere centimeters away, so close that if Osamu leans forward, their lips would touch.

He considers the implications of doing just that.

“Whatcha think of the match today?” Meian leans on the counter in a manner so comfortable that Osamu is envious of how at ease he appears. He wishes that he could relax, but an unfortunate little thing called Love is preventing him from even being able to breathe correctly.

“It was a good game. Yeah, everyone played well.” He wipes his face in a futile attempt to hide the steadily forming blush that’s becoming more and more apparent with each passing second. “Everyone played well. Especially you.” He gulps with the last word, worried that he’s given too much away.

To his relief, Meian laughs. The sound is soft, deep, and perfectly in sync with Osamu's heart, which is currently thumping against its ribcage.

“Especially me?”

“Yeah.”

“It sounds like you were paying special attention,” Meian smirks.

“I was.”

A knowing smirk cracks on Meian’s face.

“‘Samu, ‘Samu, ‘Samu.” Meian says his name three times, like he’s studying it, evaluating its taste in his mouth and deeming whether or not it’s palatable, whether or not the name is compatible with his tongue.

“Shugo,” is Osamu’s response. The captain is surprised by Osamu’s use of his first name, evident in the way his mouth slightly hangs open. “Wait, fuck, I meant Meian-”

“Shugo is fine.”

“Shugo,” Osamu repeats, his voice gaining confidence and volume. “Nice to meet you, Shugo.”

Meian leans even closer. If it was anyone else, Osamu would have suggested they get a chair, but this might be his only chance to see Meian Shugo’s lips this close.

“Tell me, ‘Samu. What’s yer favourite type of onigiri?”

Truth be told, Osamu does not have a _favourite_. He loves each and every one that his hands craft; asking him to select a favourite would be like asking a parent to choose their favourite child. Sure, some types are easier to make than others, but that only adds to their intricacy. The one he’s made the most times is tuna mayo, due to Atsumu’s perpetual craving for that particular filling, so he’s about to answer with that when Meian speaks again.

“Is it okaka? I’ve tasted your okaka onigiris, and they’re beautiful.”

Through some sort of twisted logic, Osamu is jealous that Meian is praising his onigiris and not him instead, though he supposes that the second hand compliment is better than nothing. Especially when it’s out of Meian’s mouth.

“Am I right?” Meian asks, a confident swing in his voice.

“Yeah. The okaka ones.” When Osamu thinks about it, there is something about the okaka onigiris that ranks them slightly higher than all the other varieties. He’s just never realised it until now.

Meian slaps his hand against the counter.

“Looks like I know you pretty well.”

“Which one’s yer favourite?”

Meian thinks, and Osamu watches how his tongue sticks slightly out of his mouth, curling around his upper lip.

“Okaka. ‘Cause you said it’s your favourite as well.” Meian looks at Osamu out of the corner of his eye. Osamu doesn’t look away.

He clears his throat.

“Feel free to ask for as many as you want. On the house.”

“I’d feel bad,” Meian whispers.

“Don’t,” Osamu whispers back. He's not sure why they’re whispering; no one else around is close enough to hear their conversation. Nevertheless, he matches Meian’s tone.

“I’ll bear that in mind.” Meian stands up straight, away from the counter, and the space in front of Osamu’s face suddenly feels empty.

“Yeah. Come back whenever ya want.” Osamu scratches his neck, trying to remain calm. “Not just for onigiris. Anytime ya wanna talk or something. If ya want.”

“If I want what?”

“Talk to me.” The moment the final syllable is out of his mouth, Osamu looks away. “Just as, like, friends.”

“Just friends?” Meian presses.

“Whatever ya want.” Osamu ducks underneath the counter, resurfacing with some sheets of nori seaweed. “I’m gonna go prepare some onigiris in the kitchen.”

“Ya don’t do them out here anymore?” Meian gestures further down the counter, to the space where Osamu had previously done onigiri making displays, forming and wrapping them in front of the customers.

“I do.”

“Can I watch you?” Meian asks. “If you’re cool with it.”

“Sure.”

Meian grins.

  
  


Osamu’s fingers shake a little as he presses the rice into a triangle, not out of fear, or nervousness, but because Meian’s presence is sending a trembling electricity through the air. He’s looking at Osamu’s hands, which is good, because Osamu doesn’t think he’ll be able to handle eye contact again.

“You’re good with balls,” Meian remarks.

Osamu drops the onigiri, sending grains of rice splattering over the wiped surface.

“What?”

“I said you’re good with rice balls.” 

Meian Shugo is a fucking liar, but Osamu is too preocuppied with trying not to pass out from sheer homosexuality. He gathers the grains and presses them back into shape, finishing off by wrapping it with a short strip of seaweed. He moves onto the next one and repeats the process, eventually amassing a stack of half a dozen freshly prepared onigiris.

Press. Wrap. Don’t think about Meian, who’s stood over the counter in such a way that his slightly sweat-stained shirt hangs forward, revealing defined pectoral muscles that would probably feel nice underneath Osamu’s fingertips. Yeah. Don’t think about that.

“Here you go,” Osamu croaks out, pointing at the stack of half a dozen freshly prepared onigiris. “Yer food.”

“For me?”

Osamu blinks.

“I thought ya said you-”

“I said I wanted to watch you make them.” Meian frowns. “I never said I wanted them.”

“Whaddya want me to do with them?”

“I’d suggest offering them to the rest of the team.”

“I guess that would work.”

“Or-” Meian’s voice drops octaves lower than should be humanly possible. “You could keep ‘em in the fridge for me, and I could come back in a few hours when everyone else has left, and we could eat them together.”

“We?”

“Yeah. You and me.” Meian shrugs. “If you’d want that.”

“I’d want that.”

Meian smiles.

“Then I’ll come see you later.”

**Author's Note:**

> if you want to come talk to me on twitter [here](https://twitter.com/hqtens) you go


End file.
